


a beautiful mess

by summerofspock



Series: Devil Like Me [2]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: (enemies with benefits), Coming Untouched, Explicit Sexual Content, Friends With Benefits, Hair-pulling, M/M, Overstimulation, Pining Crowley (Good Omens), Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Pre-Apocalypse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-10
Updated: 2019-12-10
Packaged: 2021-02-24 16:34:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21741028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/summerofspock/pseuds/summerofspock
Summary: It had been half a century and Aziraphale had made it clear that part of their arrangement was over. This was work now. Not some exchange of favors before they found some secluded place to fumble each other’s clothes off.That didn’t stop Crowley from asking, “Want to get out of here?”
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Devil Like Me [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1723525
Comments: 49
Kudos: 410





	a beautiful mess

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tisziny](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tisziny/gifts).



> my dear tisziny, you asked for coming untouched and thus i have written it
> 
> this is sort of in a universe established in 'have you ever fallen down at christmas' [chapter 7](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21625891/chapters/51590968) but stands alone

“And how is it going with the boy?” Aziraphale asked carefully, sipping his concession wine that had found itself to be a much nicer vintage than when it had been poured from its ten pound bottle.

“He seems suggestible,” Crowley replied. The angel was looking peaky. But he usually did these days. The looming apocalypse had them both stressed.

“I’m having a bit of success myself,” Aziraphale admitted as the other patrons swirled around them for intermission. 

“Good to hear,” Crowley said, distracted by the subtle scent of Aziraphale’s cologne and the way his chin dipped as his eyes skittered over the gathering crowd.

They’d come up with this ruse to meet and discuss the goings on with the antichrist. And Crowley was tired of it. Buses in transit and operas and museums. 

It was impossible, being in public with Aziraphale and trying not to think about how his fingers used to feel when they fisted in Crowley’s hair. How he sounded when Crowley used his tongue just right.

But it had been half a century and Aziraphale had made it clear that that part of their arrangement was over. This was work now. Not some exchange of favors before they found some secluded place to fumble each other’s clothes off.

That didn’t stop Crowley from asking, “Want to get out of here?”

Aziraphale glanced at him sharply and then looked away, fluttering hands going to his waistcoat and smoothing over the gold velvet.

It wasn’t the first time Crowley’s careful advances had been met with awkward silence. Probably wouldn’t be the last. He’d just scuttle off, tail between his legs, and maybe find a new way to sulk before he had to go back into work on Monday and take care of the swiftly growing antichrist.

“I suppose it couldn’t hurt at this point,” Aziraphale said with a resigned sigh, pulling Crowley from his calculations on how much alcohol he had in his flat.

“Your place then?” Aziraphale asked and Crowley struggled to find a response. Which was idiotic. He knew his response. It was tattooed on his ribcage, inked there by every beat of his stupid heart.

“Anywhere you like,” Crowley replied and Aziraphale tugged them into a corner. He stared at Crowley.

“Well, are you taking us there or not?”

Crowley swallowed thickly. Fuck, he was hard just thinking about getting Aziraphale alone. Grabbing Aziraphale’s elbow, Crowley winked them out of the opera house and into his bedroom.

His mind was whirling with possibilities, but he didn’t want Aziraphale to change his mind. The thought of the angel huffing and transporting himself elsewhere had Crowley’s hand on the zip of his trousers immediately, tugging them off as he went to his knees.

Aziraphale had started wearing boxers since the last time they'd done this and Crowley couldn’t even manage a cutting comment on their tartan print. He was too busy running his hands up the sensitive skin of Aziraphale's inner thighs and thinking about all the ways he could make him come.

“I’m going to make you feel so good,” he said and he swore he heard Aziraphale whimper as he ran his fingers under the waistband of his pants, hooking his index fingers in the elastic and pulling them down until he was graced with sight of Aziraphale’s half-hard cock.

Fuck. He’d almost forgotten the way it looked, nestled as it was in the shock of white curls at its base. The way it swelled, curved up, turned tantalizingly red. 

Crowley took Aziraphale into his mouth and felt his cock jump against his tongue. So fucking perfect. 

He was aching in his own too tight trousers and reached down to press his palm against his erection as he hollowed his cheeks and sucked. Aziraphale gasped and his hands sank into Crowley’s hair. The just-right scrape of his nails had Crowley keening as he felt Aziraphale grow harder in his mouth.

His mind whirled with possibilities. He wanted Aziraphale to push him back on the bed, slot their bodies together, devour him. He wanted to make love until the sun rose and kissed their skin, sod the whole world if he could have this.

But it was asking too much. Crowley knew it. It didn’t matter what he wanted. This was what he had.

He took Aziraphale so deep that he gagged, spit dripping down his chin while Aziraphale tugged on his hair. Crowley felt himself grow dangerously hard. But that sharp feeling on his scalp had always been his undoing.

Using his hand in time with his mouth, Crowley bobbed his head. Aziraphale made a broken sound and his hand tightened in Crowley’s hair. 

Crowley made the mistake of looking up. There was Aziraphale above him, wreathed in the white gold of his hair, mouth open as his chest heaved and he was looking down at Crowley with shining eyes, an expression of such intense _want_ on his face that Crowley felt as if he had caught flame.

It was too much like Crowley’s fantasies. Too much like feeling loved. Crowley’s whole body shook as he came, spilling into his trousers with no warning other than the tingle at the base of his scalp. Aziraphale slipped from his mouth and the angel gasped.

“Did you just -” Aziraphale asked, a thread of awe in his choked voice.

Crowley didn’t want to answer. He wanted Aziraphale in his mouth again, his come on his tongue, his hands on his face.

Aziraphale’s hands gripped his arms and he found himself tossed on the bed while Aziraphale unzipped his trousers and tugged them down.

“Of course you’re not wearing pants,” Aziraphale murmured to himself, disgruntled, before his mouth was on Crowley’s thighs, sucking and licking over the exposed skin.

His tongue scraped over the line of his hip and then down over his pelvis before Aziraphale took his spent cock in his mouth, sucking the mess from the tip. 

Oversensitive as he was, Crowley tried to squirm away but Aziraphale held him fast, one strong hand on his knee and the other on his hip, pushing him into the bed. Crowley had forgotten - how had he forgotten? - the way Aziraphale could do that, hold him in place and have his way with him.

Aziraphale suckled the based of his cock and then pressed licking kisses over his shaft, cleaning him up and making Crowley cry out with every swipe of his tongue. 

Finally, Aziraphale pulled back and wiped at his mouth. “Darling, you’re such a mess.”

 _Darling_.

Ears ringing with the endearment, Crowley surged up and pushed Aziraphale onto his back. “What do you need? Fuck, anything. Tell me.”

Crowley captured his mouth in a messy kiss, the taste of himself on Aziraphale’s tongue almost more than he could bear. 

“Your hands, please,” Aziraphale gasped between kisses. 

Crowley took Aziraphale in his hand. He felt so good, hot and velvety as Crowley brought him off. 

Gasping into his mouth, Aziraphale’s whole body tensed as he came in hot spurts over Crowley’s hand. They were both a mess. A beautiful mess.

Crowley tried to kiss him again, relish the closeness for just a moment but Aziraphale was already pulling away. 

Falling onto his back, Crowley spared only a moment to entertain the harsh regret that tore at his throat.

“That was a very good idea,” Aziraphale said, pulling himself out of bed and tugging up his trousers. “A marvelous stress relief.”

“Right,” Crowley said hesitantly, the glow of intimacy fading fast. “Stress relief.”

Azirapale turned back to him, miraculously buttoned up, only the faint pink of his cheeks belying their previous activities. “Perhaps we could do it again sometime?”

“Yeah,” Crowley said even as his stomach revolted. “You know where I am.”

Aziraphale cocked his head, opened his mouth. Closed it.

“I suppose I do,” Aziraphale said quietly. He disappeared.

Crowley fell back on the bed, chest aching. This was a horrible idea.

**Author's Note:**

> you can find me on tumblr [here](https://summerofspock.tumblr.com)


End file.
